


Con Amore

by telperion_15



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, First Kiss, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-18
Updated: 2010-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag for (and spoilers for) 'The Running Man'.</p><p>The title is an Italian musical term - it means 'with love; tenderly'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Con Amore

He’s aware of Charlie immediately, although he doesn’t turn his head to look at his brother. But his hands do still on the piano keys, and the soft music that was filling the house stutters into silence.

“Don’t stop,” says Charlie softly, and his voice is now coming from right behind Don, and despite its softness there is also a note of command there.

  


So Don lays his fingers on the ivories again and begins to play their mother’s music, knowing that he’s not doing it justice, but at the same time so happy that he can connect with his mother in this one small way.

  


After a few seconds Charlie lays his hands gently on Don’s shoulders, a gesture that causes a discordant note to slip into the music as Don flinches slightly. But the natural rhythm of the composition takes over and he quickly finds his way back into the melody.

  


He knows that, if he could see Charlie’s face right now, he would see that Charlie’s eyes are closed, and that his face is serene – peaceful, almost. It’s the look Charlie gets when he’s ‘at one’ with his numbers, when everything is flowing perfectly and the solutions are as clear as crystal. And now it will be the look he gets when he listens to their mother’s music as well.

  


Don wishes _he_ could provoke that look. But right now it’s the music Charlie is reacting to, and not his brother’s inexpert handling of it.

  


This time the music ends naturally, the final notes dying away into a soft silence.

  


But Charlie doesn’t remove his hands from Don’s shoulders, and Don himself doesn’t want to move either, doesn’t want to spoil this moment with his brother that is so peaceful.

  


“I didn’t know you still played,” murmurs Charlie some moments later. “You never said.”

  


“I don’t – not really,” replies Don. “Sometimes I sit here and try to remember what that teacher of ours taught us. But only when you and Dad are out – it’s embarrassing otherwise.”

  


“You’re better than you think you are,” says Charlie softly. “You would seem to be a natural.” He leans down and rests his chin on Don’s left shoulder so he can study their mother’s composition better. One arm is now embracing Don across the front of his shoulders, while the other has slid down so his hand is resting over Don’s heart.

  


Don freezes. He doesn’t know if Charlie is doing this consciously or not, but he does know that Charlie’s hair is brushing his cheek, and that if he turned his head slightly, he would be able to smell the scent of Charlie’s shampoo, the aroma of chalk dust, and that indefinable smell that is Charlie himself.

  


But he doesn’t move. He is stillness personified. Except for his heart, which is beating so hard he doesn’t know how Charlie can’t feel it under his hand.

  


“Our mother was quite the composer,” mutters Charlie. “This piece is beautiful – both aurally and mathematically.” He pauses. “I miss her every day.”

  


And to anyone else that might seem like a non sequitur, but to Don it makes perfect sense. Their mother was the only one who even tried to understand Charlie when he prattled on about his math. Ultimately, even she could never comprehend what Charlie was attempting to explain most of the time, but at least she tried. Don and their father’s reactions had ranged from bemusement to annoyance. Even now, when Charlie consulted for the FBI, none of them really tried to _understand_ him – they demanded a pretty analogy, and then just let him get on with his work, trusting that he would find answers for them.

  


“I know, buddy,” says Don. “I miss her too.”

  


“But at least we have each other still,” replies Charlie. “You have Dad and me, Dad has the both of us, and I have you and Dad.”

  


_If only you knew how much you have me_, thinks Don. Talking of their mother, and what they’ve lost, only emphasises to him what he can’t have – what he can never have.

  


“Donny, you’re not going to leave me, are you?”

  


The question, coming as it does from out of the blue, almost blindsides Don.

  


“Why would you ask me that, buddy?”

  


“Well, your job, it’s dangerous, you have other claims on your time apart from m…us. And you have left before, you know.”

  


Finally, Don turns his head. Charlie’s face is mere centimetres away, and his eyes are boring into Don’s with an intensity that is almost unnerving.

  


“I will never leave you,” he says firmly. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  


And if he were having this conversation with someone else, someone who wasn’t Charlie, someone who wasn’t his brother, Don would have backed up that statement with a kiss – another way to express his promise.

  


But this is Charlie. This is his brother. And no matter how much Don might want to, he will never act on his desire. He will never do anything that might cause Charlie to leave _him_.

  


Charlie is still looking into his eyes, but now he seems to be searching for something. And Don thinks he can pinpoint the exact moment that Charlie finds what he is looking for. His eyes widen, and his embrace around Don’s shoulders tightens slightly. Then Don suddenly realises that one finger of the hand that is resting on his chest is tapping in time to the rhythm of his heart, although Charlie seems to be completely unaware that he is doing it.

  


Don opens his mouth to say something – he’s not exactly sure what – but before he can, Charlie does what Don would never have allowed himself to do. He leans forward and kisses his brother.

  


It is soft and chaste, and more full of meaning than any kiss Don has ever experienced. And when Charlie pulls back he can see that his brother’s eyes are sparkling with a mixture of sorrow and joy.

  


“Don’t talk,” says Charlie quickly. “Just play. Please?”

  


And because Don can never deny his brother anything, he plays.


End file.
